


All About You - Teen Version

by StarryEyes2000



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:22:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29902437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryEyes2000/pseuds/StarryEyes2000
Summary: After a difficult mission Chris needs a little TLC. Where it is all about and for him. To get out of his head and just feel.
Relationships: Christopher Pike/Original Female Character
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

Her attention was again drawn to the man on the outskirts of the large packed noisy room. The one attempting to shrink himself into a corner, as if he were trying to hide.

It wasn’t going to work. Not just because of his striking blue eyes and handsome face. Not because of his well-built physique. There is an air about him, he has _presence_. The media calls it ‘star power.’ But for him it is different. Not attention seeking. Rather he exudes confidence and authority. Leadership and competence. People are drawn to it, like moths to a flame, like Ferengi to gold, like Klingons to battle, like Vulcans to anything that piques their curiosity.

_Of course those charming dimples are also tempting_ , she thinks.

Yet beyond the good looks and compelling aura, if one takes the time to look deeper, there is sadness. Tired eyes. A smile that is polite but not spontaneous. Shoulders that droop slightly despite the straight posture as if his responsibilities are too heavy and recent experiences have been harsh. He has an untouched drink in his hand, likely a prop to prevent fidgeting.

She knows that look of weariness. Has seen it before in her brother after a tough deployment and it calls to her protective instincts.

It takes time and finesse to weave through the crowds, but she manages to reach his side. Leaning in to be heard above the music and conversation she says, “You look like you could use a wingman.”

Chris is staring miserably at the ongoing party. _How did I let myself get talked into this_? A planet-side friend dragged him here, insisting Chris needed a diversion. His friend had explained it more colorfully, but he had outgrown that type of language after high school. He had also outgrown referring to a woman he wanted to take to his bed as a ‘target.’

His high school buddy left an hour ago with a very willing companion. Some friendships are better left in the past.

_Yes, sharing the night with someone would be … nice._ And end one of two ways – a fast furious ten minutes resulting only in his own release or an exhausting forty minutes holding back as he gave his partner the pleasure she deserved. Neither would be kind to her. Neither beckoned him at the moment, the first unsatisfying after those few brief moments, the latter too much … He thought about it and finally admitted to himself, _it requires more than I have to give tonight._ Yet he craved the intimacy found in the companionship of a lover.

_I should leave. Go back to the ship._ Though that was unappealing. On board, even parked in orbit, there were always a multitude of items and people vying for his time and attention. He wanted, needed a break from that tonight. Sighing, he decided on a long walk to clear his head and work out the lingering soreness in his muscles before beaming back to the ship to catch-up on work.

Lost in his own thoughts and caught off-guard Chris asks, “Excuse me?”

The woman now standing beside him – the one he noticed earlier, ok to be honest the one he watched, purposefully, several times during the evening, the one whose body language and playful manner with her escort telegraphed familiarity and closeness – smiles impishly and tilts her head slightly before answering, “Technically that should be an anti-wingman. You look like you could use one.”

All he manages is a confused expression.

“You turned down several offers for a …” She smiles before continuing and quiets her voice, as if sharing a confidence, “ah, shall we say a romantic liaison. Therefore it is logical to conclude you are not looking for seduction tonight.”

“But … you mean …” Chris stammers.

“I happen to excel in being a pretend companion. I’ll stand here with you which will deter the propositions.” She stops and narrows her eyes as if considering. “Well not all of them, some won’t deem me competition.”

Chris finally manages to utter a complete sentence. “But you are here with someone.”

“Oh that.” _He noticed?_ Warmth spread through her at the thought. _No,_ she tells herself firmly, _he needs kindness and nurturing, not someone else clamoring for attention and affection._ “I was his shield date, but our mission has been accomplished. I am now on my own.”

She moves to stand in front of him and looks up into his eyes, her expression kind. “We can talk or not, your choice, silence doesn’t intimidate me.”

The response is a smile. His first genuine smile of the night. “Alright, thank you. I should introduce …”

Her mischievous look is back. “Don’t wingmen have nicknames or handles? I’m not a pilot, but it might be fun to invent a handle.” _I know who you are, but I think the flagship commander deserves the gift of anonymity for a few hours._

“This should prove enlightening.”

“Hmmm.” She taps her chin with a forefinger. “I could choose Amelia.”

Chris raises an eyebrow.

“As in Amelia Earhart. She was impressive. A bad ass. A little on the nose though. And I’m not much of a bad ass.” A pause. “You’re thinking CrazyChick is a better fit.”

That prompts a chuckle. “Not really, but why?”

“Because I offered to be your fake date,” she answers as if it were obvious. “Has that ever happened to you before?”

“It is a first.”

Seeing two women approaching with a hungry leering glint in their eyes she touches his arm possessively and stretches up balancing on the tips of her toes, whispering in his ear while shooting the pair a look that communicated – back off he’s mine!

Automatically Chris places a hand on the small of her back. _To help her balance,_ _he tells himself._

There was that warm feeling again. She pushed it aside and waited for his next cue.

They lapse into silence. For a brief time he seems lighter, but then the weariness returns. He takes a sip of his drink, grimaces and places the glass on a nearby table. It had been a prop. Afterwards he clasps his hands together behind his back, frowns as if in pain, crosses his arms in front of his chest, and then not knowing what to do next, lets go. His eyes dart around the room like he is searching for a threat.

He surrenders to the inevitable, a lonely night _._ “I should go.”

“Me too. It’s much too noisy and busy for my taste.”

“Talking to you was the best part of the evening.”

“Thank you.”

Chris calls after her as she turns to leave. “Wait, how are you getting home?”

“I’ll walk, it’s not far.”

“No.” It comes out like a command. “It’s late. I’ll see you home.”

_How sweet and old-fashioned._ “That’s not necessary.” She assures him.

He offers his arm, crooked at the elbow. “This is not up for discussion.”

She puts her arm through his. “Then I accept.”


	2. Chapter 2

Once outside and away from the party, Chris breathes deeply and exhales, letting the crisp night air cleanse the remnants of the stale room.

“… or scenic route?”

And admonishes himself for tuning out, thinking it is rude. “I’m sorry, I … I missed what you said.”

“No matter.” She touches his arm. “It’s a ten-minute walk via the direct route. Twenty-five using the scenic path through the park …”

With the accompanying touch her response to his inattention feels genuine rather than perfunctory. Wanting to stretch their time together he interrupts and answers in a rushed tone, “The park. Yes, definitely the park.”

His reward is a brilliant smile. It least it felt like a reward to him. “Lead the way.”

They take the path through the trees and loop around a small pond. “There are no resident ducklings here in the spring, like in the public garden in Boston. I miss that. I miss feeding them and watching mom round up her brood.”

“You’re from Boston?”

She nods. They continue, arms entwined, as she lets Chris set the pace of their stroll and the conversation.

“Why?” He asks. Then explains in response to her puzzled look. “The, what did you call it? Shield date.”

“Oh, that. He’s a good friend from a large family who disapproves of his preference, his orientation. We were roommates in college. His parents showed up unexpectedly one day and I pretended to be his girlfriend.” She laughs. “You’d think they’d catch on after all these years.”

“You were very convincing.” Chris remarks dryly feeling possessive but trying not to sound that way.

She hugs his arm tighter, again surprised he noticed and still pleased he did.

Each time they near an exit he points to another path, another copse of trees, another plaque. An hour passes. Her phone beeps.

“Sorry, I have to check that. A lot is going on at work at the moment.”

As she reads the message he asks, “Important? Or was it an escape call?” He grins, flashing the dimples.

She notices when the smile isn’t forced, his features soften, and he almost relaxes. _My god, I could get lost in that smile._ “Hardly. My boss and his wife are on a mission to fix me up." She snorts. "Neither are capable of any subtlety.”

Chris admits to himself, reluctantly, he feels a twinge of jealously. _A fix-up would be a real date._ Then he chuckles, “I have a few people like that in my life as well.”

They end up sitting on a bench in the middle of a fragrant night garden filled with plants and flowers in shades of white, grey, and rose.

“There is something about the quiet of night that soothes.”

“Yes.” Chris agrees, thinking of deep space. He notices her shiver slightly. “Cold?”

“Not especially.”

_Damn it, Christopher, pay attention. She’s in a sleeveless dress while you roam aimlessly in a park on a spring night._ He stands, ready to suggest they leave but hesitates.

She catches his hand. “Let’s stay a little longer.” Needing little encouragement he sits down, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She snuggles into the warmth of his body.

This he misses. _How does someone who likes physical contact, longs for it at times, end up in a job where that is practically off-limits?_

“Do you have brothers? Sisters?” He asks in a ploy to divert his thoughts.

“An older sister and a younger brother. He’s travels a lot. You?”

“Only child. And I’m away most of the time.” This consequence of his choices lays heavy at times. “I think that would be easier for my parents if there were other children.”

The moonlight, the attraction, the camaraderie, the lack of pressure or expectation pulls at Chris. He leans over and down. Drawn to her lips, his own parting. She, looking up and into his eyes, her hand moving to caress the back of his neck, fingers combing through the hair at the nape; nods, communicating permission.

It’s so close and … Chris pulls back, unsure. _I’ll be gone in two days and I’m … not … a good companion tonight._ The moment passes. She lays her head on his shoulder and a hand on his chest communicating she understands and reassuring it’s OK. He places his hand over hers relishing the contact.

Wanting to pull him back to a lighter mood she teases, “That’s not how a pretend date ends you know.” It works, a little. But they finish the walk to her apartment in silence.

At the doorstep, she holds out a hand intending to end the evening on a playful note and coax back his amazing smile. “This has been my best fake date.”

Chris takes the hand but rather than shake it brings it to his lips for a soft kiss. “Me too.”

Neither knew what to say next, what to do with suddenly awkward hands and limbs. She turns to open the door. He looks at the ground, reluctant to leave.

“Would you like to come up?”

No encouragement is needed. And his smile is back.


	3. Chapter 3

From the kitchen she calls out “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes, please.” Chris catalogs his surroundings while he waits, a necessary precaution when fighting or exploring that is now so ingrained the habit is automatic in spite of the setting or circumstance.

The building is old, fronting on a quiet Paris street and the apartment occupies half of the top floor. The room he is standing in is simple and eclectic yet feminine, with soft white walls and furnished with a plush light grey velvet couch and two dark buttery soft armchairs. Between is a large medium brown coffee table littered with books, children’s games, and the little knick-knacks everyone accumulates, which, he assumes, hold special meaning. A cream and brown Moroccan rug covers the wooden floor anchoring the seating area. Sheer curtains cover the floor to ceiling windows. Soft color here and there – vases of fresh flowers, throws, art – accent the neutral scheme. He notices the far wall, most likely separating the living area from the bedroom, is lined with overflowing bookshelves. In front is a long table underneath an antique chandelier, one that is plain rather than ornate. The table is littered with PADDs and other items, and he surmises it is used as a work area. The effect is relaxed and inviting, a lived-in space rather than one that is meticulously decorated.

Emerging from the kitchen, she hands him a tray with a teapot and two cups. “I haven’t had a chance to pick up since my nieces visited,” she explains while clearing a space on the coffee table for the tray and gesturing to the couch in a non-verbal invitation to sit.

He sits, after she does.

“Why the amused look?” He asks.

_Because I can’t remember the last time a man waited for me to sit before he did._ “Not amused, charmed.”

She hands him a cup and suddenly feeling unsure hurriedly explains, “At the party the drink you were nursing didn’t appear to your liking. I thought something non-alcoholic might be more palatable. It’s jasmine tea.”

Chris found the tea’s flowery aroma and delicate taste satisfying, and sensual. “Yes, this is better,” he remarks before shaking his head and continuing the admonishment he began in the park, his tone stern. “You should always have a coat with you.” A pause. “Why do you find that amusing?” _Her laughter sounds like music._

“Oh …” she says between chuckles, “You were a boy scout, weren’t you? Always be prepared and all of that.”

“Eagle scout,” he corrects with a mock frown, “not that the distinction is important. Nor is being prepared a bad thing.”

“That’s perfect by the way. Your pilot’s … what do you call it … handle … nickname?”

“Call sign.”

“OK … your call sign is now … eagle scout. At least to me.”

“You don’t even know if I can fly anything.” Chris mutters. And as hoped, his retort elicits the same slight head tilt and impish smile from earlier in the evening, the one which lights up her eyes.

“True. But if I am the pretend wingman, that makes you the pretend pilot.”

“We seem to have drifted off topic. Which was the importance of keeping warm on chilly spring nights.”

“Hmmm. Aversion to cold. No accent. You’re a southern California boy aren’t you?”

“Mojave specifically. I fail to understand how where I am from is relevant in this conversation.”

His statement elicits another merry laugh. “Spend a couple of winters acclimating in snowy, frigid Boston and you will.” Recalling his kindness earlier in the evening to a young girl who was flustered and upset, she adds, her tone soft, "I like the way you take care of those around you, even strangers.”

They lapsed into silence, both feeling comfortable and safe with the other. A silence that is neither awkward nor uneasy, rather one where words are superfluous.

Chris takes her teacup and places it on the tray with his own. He stands and holds out his hand. “I should go soon. But before I do, one dance. We missed that at the party.”

Unmoving, hesitant, her own hands now tightly clasped she responds, “Not required on a pretend date, which is fortunate for you. I’m not very good at dancing.”

He untangles her hands and, taking both, gently pulls her up, while murmuring in her ear “I no longer care to think of this as a pretend date.”

“But …”

He shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “I want to feel you in my arms … to hold you … even if it’s just for a few minutes. May I?”

She nods. The music he selects is quiet and slow, faintly jazzy. After a few stops and starts and clumsy stances, they find a rhythm and move smoothly together. As she gains confidence her body relaxes into his. He leans down and she reaches up for a gentle kiss. Neither notice when the music ends. Instead after smoothing his hair back she lays her head against his chest and they continue swaying.

A few minutes later Chris stops and pulls away. Sensing they both need a moment to regroup, she says, “Uh … I … I should change,” walking out of the room before he can respond.

Lost in his own thoughts he doesn’t notice when she returns until he hears, “I’m sorry but would you help? The zipper is stuck.” She presents her back as she asks, holding her now loose hair up and away from the neckline.

“Ah … yeah … sure …” Chris tries to tug the zipper down, but it doesn’t budge. It resists a second attempt. And another more forceful one. He pulls the top edges of the dress together with his other hand intending to realign the stubborn fastener. As he does his fingers brush against her neck and her breath hitches ever so slightly.

After finagling, the zipper is righted, and it moves. He gives into the temptation to trace a line down her spine. She arches her back, and her hair falls as she reaches to prevent the dress from slipping down. Moving her hair to the side he kisses the now bare shoulder and wraps an arm around her waist, nudging them closer together.

Both start to speak at once, “I … we …”

Needing to walk things back, Chris abruptly separates and moves toward the couch. Picking up the tray he says, “I’ll take this to the kitchen.”

She retreats back to the bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

She sunk down onto the edge of the bed, waiting for her heart rate to return to normal, thoughts swirling as she pushed away her body’s reactions and her attraction to the man. _When did I stop thinking of him as Captain Pike?_ She smiles. _There is a charming vulnerability in the man behind the formidable leader._

_Stop, just stop,_ she tells herself firmly, _this is about offering the space to just be. To one who needs and deserves it. With no pressures or expectations. And nothing more._

After dressing, she unconsciously tidied the room and mused about what life might be like on a different path. One filled with adventures among the stars and the people who embraced those voyages.

Chris’ attention darts around the kitchen whose walls are covered in the same creamy shade as the living area. Above the marble counters open shelves are stacked with dishes and cookware. Cabinets below the counters are painted a soft grey. It is organized in an efficient u-shape, everything only a few steps away from the large sink and … _wait … is that a cooking range? Yes, it is, one of old-fashioned French ones._ He takes another look around. _Where is the replicator? Interesting._

Near the open portion of the u-shape is a table in front of another floor to ceiling window with a chair on one side and a cushioned bench pushed against the wall on the other. The window faces eastward. He runs his fingers along the back of the chair lost in the image invoked by his thoughts of a different path. The two of them sitting side by side on the bench in the morning with sunlight streaming into the room. Laughing over a private joke. Talking about ordinary things during breakfast before starting their day. Those little and perhaps insignificant moments when you share a life with someone. Moments that were … not prohibited but rare in his position. He craved them at times. _Who would I be if I had chosen a different path?_

Hearing movement in the other room he pushes the image away as he reenters the living area. And allows himself a moment to appreciate the woman who is still unaware of his presence. For the party she wore a simple elegant dress with her hair in a conservative bun. An attractive woman who caught his eye and then kept his attention. Now, dressed casually, looking down-to-earth in a dark sweater that complimented her eyes and black fitted pants with soft hair falling a few inches past her shoulders, she takes his breath away. _But it’s more than the physical,_ he thinks, _there is an openness in her that welcomes you in, that cheers and soothes._

She turns and smiles. Embarrassed to have been caught staring, Chris says the first thing that pops into his head, “You don’t have a replicator?” Internally he rolls his eyes, _could you sound any lamer?_

Her expression is genuinely puzzled. “But on the … don’t you miss …” she stammers and then stops before accidentally revealing too much. “I live a few blocks from the best fresh markets in the city, why would I need one?”

“Most still would, but I like that you don’t. That … rhythm of life … sounds nice.” Chris looks wistful and she notices. His next words sound reluctant, “I should go. I’m sure you have other things …”

She shakes her head and says tenderly, “Nothing more important than this. Than you.” A pause. “You could stay …”

His thoughts are still stuck on ‘nothing more important than you’ and he misses her next sentence.

Realizing _what_ she just said, she looks down and away, bites her lower lip and stammers, “That is not what I meant … You are welcome to stay … but I’m not suggesting …”

_You’re lovely even when flustered_ , he thinks. After catching up with the conversation, he gently tilts her chin up with his hand, “I …”

Stopping for a deep breath, she makes another attempt to explain, again rushing the words, “I mean I have a spare room. It’s pink because as you know I have nieces that stay over, but … more relevantly, its quiet and comfortable. And … I … I can put the dolls and other toys in the closet.” _OK, that bit about the dolls was unimportant._

His hand drifts to the side and smooths a lock of her hair. “I see.”

She ducks just out of reach before continuing, “You … well …” Another pause. Another calming breath. “If you’d like to be … away … from where you normally would be, away from all your to-dos and responsibilities … and a hotel is quite impersonal … you are welcome to stay here … and … do whatever you want … I don’t mean that … I mean there are no expectations …” _Oh for heaven’s sake, just stop talking, she thinks._

Without hesitation, without a pause, a smile beginning to spread to his eyes, Chris answers, “Yes.”

“I’ll get the room ready.”

He catches her hand as she bolts for the hallway. “No, please. Not yet. Can we sit and talk more? I haven’t had a night like this …” It was his turn to feel unsure and stammer, “well … not in … in a very, very long time.”

Turning back, she answers, “Neither have I.”

Their hands stay clasped as they settle on the sofa. Again she lets him set the pace of the conversation. “Have you lived in Paris long?” He asks.

“A little over a year. I was transferred here from Geneva.”

“Do you like it?”

She nods. “The city is beautiful, and my job is never dull. The Ambassador has, well, a larger-than-life personality with a great booming voice; there is never any doubt that he has entered a room. He and his wife have been generous helping me settle into a new city. I admire both of them.” She chuckled, “Despite the fix-ups that typically end in a debacle.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. I am much better at pretend dating than the real thing. And, in my defense, it’s not _always_ my fault.” She mutters to herself, but Chris still hears, “… and I certainly wasn’t the one who called in a favor on Starbase 1 so that judge advocate could come to my rescue.”

He filed that tidbit away for later follow-up while thinking, _that sounds like a prank that Bob would orchestrate._

“Will you be in Paris long?” She asks.

“Two, maybe three days. So no, not long.”

As the conversation ebbed and flowed, they moved closer to one another. She laid her head on his shoulder. Periodically he brushed his cheek against her hair.

“You still need a call sign. As my wingman.”

“Hmmm, I really don’t have any nicknames.”

“None?”

“Never. I’m just an ordinary girl.”

_Hardly ordinary_ , he thinks. “No matter. I’ve already chosen it. My science … I mean my friend is studying Mandarin. Recently he spent a night explaining the intricacies of that language to me.” _And I never expected to have a real-world use for the information, but as my father likes to point out, never turn down knowledge in any form,_ he says to himself dryly before continuing. “To me you are Meili, pronounced may-lee. Which means beautiful.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Meili,” she repeats softly as she sits up and looks into his eyes. Her heart had leapt at the sincerity in his voice as he explained the choice of this call sign. The warmth she sees in his expression underscores that genuineness. And triggers apprehension. “Thank you.”

“Do you … am I the only one …” he stops unsure how to ask about or explain this intimacy between them. He’s heard of but never experienced love at first sight. He’s felt lust at first sight. This is different, it is familiarity at first sight and, so far, better than the other two. _I am more comfortable with her than with any lover._

Her look is curious as she waits for him to finish the question. He shakes his head, “Not important,” and opens his arms in an invitation. As she settles next to him, Chris decides to merely be in this rare moment and enjoy it. _Don’t ruin this,_ _it is the intimacy you wished for earlier this evening._ He chuckles to himself, _I’m a dull guy._ _If a long-term relationship were possible for me, this is how I imagine it, these moments at the end of a long day sometimes talking, sometimes quietly listening to soft music, lost in our own thoughts or in reading or in work, always touching or within reach of one another._

But now fidgety, she is no longer at ease, and her body is tense.

She moves away and turns to face him. “My name is Lilly by the way. I want … I need to explain something. Please hear me out.”

Chris nods, disappointed that the ease in each other’s company might be about to change.

“My brother is a physician. He works with a humanitarian aid group, a non-government one. They serve the places other organizations can’t or won’t regardless of the conditions – conflict, disease, famine – to help the people who get overlooked.”

She pauses to allow any questions or comments. “Not always, but a few times when he returns home, usually after back to back to back assignments, there is a weariness in his demeanor. It’s hard to describe, a look in his eyes, a roughness in his voice, a slight slouch in his posture.”

“You caught my eye at the party, and I saw those things in you.”

Chris continues to sit quietly, giving her all of his attention which she finds simultaneously refreshing and unnerving.

“Well meaning friends and family jump in intending to help my brother during these times, and that overwhelms him. But he’s not the type of person to push anyone away, he wouldn’t take the chance of hurting their feelings.”

She smiles, “I promise I am coming to the point.”

“We now have a ritual for these times. He calls it ‘being my kid brother’. Three or four days where the two of us play games, work puzzles, watch old videos, roam the park and exist on pancakes, midnight pasta, and chocolate chip cookies. It gives him the space to just be and reconnect with himself.”

She takes a deep breath. “I deflected when you started to introduce yourself at the party because … I … I know who you are. And I wanted you, for a little while at least, to have the space to be anonymous, to just be without expectations. But now … it feels wrong to … to let it continue.”

“I understand if you are angry. It was meant as a kindness and not as a deception.” She searches his impassive expression for a clue to his feelings. _I now understand how the rumors that he stares down foes got started._

“Does that mean I get pasta and cookies too?” Chris asks with a dimpled smile.

Her relief comes out as a nervous laugh as she exhales. He leans in and whispers in her ear, “I’m Chris by the way. And thank you. Anonymity is a gift for me.”

Working in the kitchen preparing a late supper becomes another type of dance, one without music but still with an innate shared rhythm, their bodies brushing together as they move about the small space; Lilly cooking at the range and mixing cookie dough while he performs the small tasks she assigns – retrieving items from the higher shelves, opening wine, grating cheese, slicing bread, and setting the table. With each brush they linger, prolonging the contact. Here and there one reaches out and caresses the other on the arm, or shoulder, or face.

_Oh damn_ , Lilly mutters to herself as she quickly turns away and grabs the pan from the stove top before the contents scorch. _Stop gazing into his eyes and concentrate._ Chris reluctantly untwines his arm from her waist.

Instead of the sun in his earlier image, light from the full moon streams through the window by the table in the kitchen as they sit side by side on the padded bench, eating pasta, laughing at each other’s anecdotes, and jumping from random topic to random topic.

“Wait, that is the third time you’ve used wicked in a different context. Please explain.” Chris says as he pushes his plate away and leans back against the wall. _I can’t remember the last time I stopped for or enjoyed a meal._ Usually, much to his CMO’s and the onboard chef’s annoyance, he ate hurriedly while working.

Lilly clears the table, “It’s a New England expression with a lot of uses. It has the tradition meaning, like evil deeds, but it’s also used as an adjective to emphasis something, such as wicked good or wicked bad. And it’s used as a one-word exclamation meaning awesome or fantastic.”

He rises to join her as she begins washing the dishes, looking for a towel to dry them. She points to a drawer. “I’m not from a Luddite community nor a technophobe,” she explains to his unasked question. “A kitchen reclamator or even an old-fashioned automatic dishwasher isn’t needed for one person.”

“When I’m done with starships I think I will join you …”

She hides a secret smile at the thought of having him here fulltime. _No,_ she tells herself sternly _, thinking that way will make this hard,_ _it is unlikely you will ever see one another again. And besides, he misspoke._

He stammers blushing slightly, “I mean I wouldn’t find a need for them either. And this may sound odd, but I like sharing these simple tasks with someone.”

“Me too,” she answers quietly.

Chris carefully puts down the glass he is drying. Drawing her hands out of the sink he guides them around his neck, nudging her body with his side and leg until they are facing. He shakes his head when she starts to protest about her wet hands. Tilting her chin up and leaning down, he kisses her, gently at first, chaste. As she returns the kiss he deepens it, channeling all his desire and need into it, trying to communicate he wants more but this was all he has to give in this moment. _In a better time and place I would make love to you slowly, tenderly, emphatically. Drawing out the pleasure until you call out my name while I repeatedly coax you to a climax._

Lilly brushes her thumb across his cheek answering that this is enough to his silent plea. He rests his forehead against hers. She feels his body start responding to her in other ways.

He abruptly steps back and away from her. “I’m sorry … I want you … but I … I can’t give you what you deserve,” he stammers and then adds quicky, “not tonight.”

“I am certain you are a generous lover,” she says softy, “but has it ever been all about you? Have you experienced that? Because you deserve it.”

Lilly holds out her hand. “Do you trust me?”

Chris nods.

She leads him to her bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

Unlike the rest of the apartment, the bedroom is distinctly feminine. Against the far wall in the center of the room sits a large bed made up in white linens and lined with pillows of various shapes and sizes. The rectangular headboard with rounded edges is padded, upholstered in a cream fabric and rimmed with mahogany wood. The floor is covered with a large taupe Persian rug woven with swirls of darker beige, grey, rose, cream and hints of blue. A silk spread at the foot of the bed is patterned with dark rose colored circles and black vines. To the left a dressing table sits between the floor to ceiling windows that are covered with transparent curtain panels and blackout drapes in the same rose color as the bed coverlet. Opposite the windows and near the bed is a comfortable armchair with a large ottoman, both covered in a very light grey-pink fabric.

Once inside the room, Lilly stands on her toes, sliding her hands up Chris’ chest and brushing his lips with a light kiss. She loops her hands around his shoulders and behind his neck. After kissing him again, she says softly as she gazes into his vivid blue eyes, “I want to make love to you. May I?” Her hands move over his shoulders and back to his broad chest, her fingertips drawing small circles on it.

Chris nuzzles the side of her neck and nods.

Again on the tip of her toes, she whispers in his ear, “Tell me what you like,” before kissing him with great care, lingering over it. When their lips part, she traces his with her finger before brushing them with another light kiss while she holds his cheek and caresses it with her thumb.

“Don’t think, just enjoy the sensations.” Lilly directs as she slides her hands down his sides, pausing on his lower hips. Her hands move up brushing across his chest and over his abdomen, then down to his thighs, as if she were tracing an X across his body. With additional each X she draws, she lingers over the more sensitive spots. His breath hitches and he starts returning her caresses.

Stepping back slightly she shakes head. “All about you, remember?” This time, as her hands move across, up and down his body, she inches her fingers into the waistband of his pants remaining there for a few seconds.

“Feel good?” She asks as she kisses the outer rim of his ear and nips his ear lobe.

“Yes. Very.”

During the next circuit she brushes his groin. “That must be uncomfortable,” she observes before placing a hand on the button to his pants. “May I?” With permission she unfastens the button and very, very slowly lowers the zipper halfway. He moans and strokes her slightly parted lips with his forefinger before pulling her into a close embrace.

Taking both his hands in hers, Lilly leads Chris to the armchair and pushes him into it. She sinks to her knees and then, still very slowly, unzips his pants the rest of the way. She looks into his eyes. He leans forward and after tilting her chin up, kisses her. “I …” he starts.

Lilly shushes him.

_Is she … hummin_ g? Chris thinks. _Oh my god, she is humming … as if she is content and that slight vibration is ..._ That thought pushes him over the edge. He pants into her shoulder. When his breathing returns to normal, Chris manages to say, “You have impressive breath control.”

“It’s from years of vocal training.” Lilly answers and then with a sly grin adds as if sharing a secret, “Though this probably isn’t the end result my parents had in mind when they insisted I take singing lessons.”

Chris chuckles. “I imagine not.” He holds open his arms in invitation and she carefully settles onto his lap, touching her forehead to his and then resting her head against his chest. They cuddle like this for a while, content to be together.

“I’ve never …” he starts and hesitates suddenly unsure.

“Go on. Tell me.” She urges while idly running a hand over his shoulders and across his chest. “We can be open with each other.”

“It seemed … I felt … like you enjoyed it.” _There’s that lovely smile. I’m going to miss seeing it,_ he thinks.

“I did.” Lilly looks puzzled before asking “Why wouldn’t I?”

“That’s not always been my experience.” _With some it’s more like homework they have to do to get the grade, he thinks._ “But knowing, feeling that you did, made a difference. It … meant … a lot.”

“Hmmm. That is unfortunate for them. It is a compliment that you trust me enough to let go.” She frowns slightly, “That probably doesn’t make much sense.”

Chris strokes her cheek, “Oh, but it does. And I agree.”

“Now that you are relaxed you can enjoy the rest of the night. Are you a shower or bath guy?”

“Definitely shower. You could join me … after a bit of recovery time.” He suggests. _Well, after that, I may need more than a bit of time,_ he admits to himself.

“Tomorrow. I have a few preparations to make,” she promises as she nestles closer. “That was the warm-up. I’m not done with you yet.”

When Chris emerges from a long shower, the room is bathed in soft light from various lamps and a low blaze in the fireplace near the foot of the bed. Lilly has changed into a black gown of transparent lace with a plunging neckline, its hem brushes her thighs midway above the knee. Black ribbons are stitched into the lace, tracing lines down her sides, and in a diamond between her breasts and across her lower abdomen.

“We can build ships that travel faster than the speed of light, safely encased in bubbles that defy the law of relativity, but the engineers have yet to master delivering adequate water pressure on those ships.” He remarks dryly. “I’d almost forgotten how good a proper shower feels.”

“Most would assume a shower loaded with multiple jets is one of the privileges of the commander.”

“Living spaces on deep space vessels, including the Captain’s, are spartan … and frugal.”

“Then I am pleased to have another way to pamper you.”

Lilly is standing near the fire and in its reflective glow. Chris leans against the wall near the bed’s headboard. “Are you going to join me?” She asks softly.

“Yes … soon … now I am appreciating the view.”

She blushes.

“You are beautiful.”

Her blush deepens. “That’s kind of you but …”

“Come here.” There is a hint of command in his tone of voice.

Once Lilly is standing in front of him, Chris holds her eyes with a direct gaze. “I sense you don’t hear that enough. You should be told every day you are extraordinary.” He kisses away her objection. “I am rarely contradicted.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Perk of the job?”

He grins, flashing his dimples. “Absolutely.”

Her expression turns serious, almost sad or melancholy as she reaches up and smooths a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, “Thank you. It’s nice hearing it from you.”

Chris’ next kiss leaves her sagging against his chest and weak in the knees. “A little preview,” he whispers.

“Oh, OK,” is her breathless answer. “But right now, the rest of this night is still for you. Come to bed.”

When he is settled and reclining against the pillows, Lilly loosens the belt of his robe, pushing it to the side. She kneels between his thighs, dips her fingertips into a bottle of delicately scented oil and slowly begins touching Chris, caressing his whole body. Now and then she blows in his ear, nibbles his earlobe and a couple of times, tickles his side.

Hands coated with more of the oil, her caresses deepen as she massages his chest and shoulders before kissing a trail down his abdomen. She smiles when he responds with a low moan.

“Oh, so you like that. How about this.” Sliding her hands behind him, Lilly forcefully massages his lower back and edges downwards. She stops to reapply oil to her hands and lightly touches more intimate areas as if she were tickling the keys of a piano.

In between gasps, sighs and whimpers, Chris asks, “Music … yes … right … there … music lessons again?”

She leans in and kisses his cheek. “Yeah, all those years of playing scales. Shall I switch to B minor?” The touches change slightly. He groans and nests his head on her shoulder.

Lilly sits back on her legs allowing Chris catch his breath. While he does, she looks at him tenderly, focusing all her energy on him, silently communicating he holds her complete attention.

Drawing an elongated ‘S’, her hand languidly snakes down his abs and then lower. “Ah, that’s my good boy.” Lilly encourages, as he moves into her strokes, intensifying the sensation.

Caught up in the playfulness of her touch, Chris feels like laughing _. In a good way,_ he thinks. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Hmm?” she asked, narrowing her eyes trying to interpret his remark. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No, oh god, no.” He hesitates. “That … what you are doing … reminds me of riding a carousel … going round and round.” He shakes his head. “It’s good. Freeing.”

“And you wanted to laugh out loud like a child but didn’t want to hurt my feelings.” Lilly guesses.

_It’s uncanny how you get me even though we’ve known each other less than a day,_ Chris thinks before answering simply, “Yes.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment. And since we are on a music theme tonight …” Her fingertips begin lightly dancing as if gently tapping a drum. Chris closes his eyes with a blissful sigh.

“Oh, my love,” she murmurs. _Did I just say that? Did he hear that? No. Do. Not. Go. There. Don’t feel that, he will be leaving in a couple of days._ To distract them both, Lilly rolls onto her back and nudges him closer.

_I should,_ he starts to think to himself.

“No you shouldn’t” she answers as if, once again, reading his mind, “This is all about you, remember?”

She wraps her legs around his hips as he braces on his arms and pushes in. Pulling him close she coaxes, “Relax into the feeling, don’t hold yourself away from me. I won’t break.” He nods and gingerly lowers his full body weight onto her. That along with the delicate twirl of her hips drives Chris to the edge and her body answers urging him on.

Chris starts to roll off and to her side, but Lilly holds him tightly in place. “Not yet, I mean unless you want to. Stay here, with me, inside me.”

“I don’t want to withdraw … I want to stay.”

Lilly brushes his hair back and places her hands on the sides of his head. “Good. Otherwise it feels so abrupt and lonely. All that closeness and then … suddenly … nothing.”

Chris lays his head on her shoulder, drowsy, content and sated.


End file.
